By Your Side
by Kendra Luehr
Summary: Abigail gazed down at the flowers for a long time. In the past, anytime someone had given her flowers, they had wanted something from her. What did Will want? (One-shot)


"By Your Side"

Abigail gazed down at the flowers for a long time. In the past, anytime someone had given her flowers, they had _wanted_ something from her. What did Will want?

"It's an apology," he softly said, almost as if he were reading her mind.

"For what?"

"For not being there when I should have… For being too reluctant, too _cowardly_ to come forward when you needed a friend."

Frowning, Abigail looked away. "I don't need your pity, Will. _Or_ your flowers."

He winced. "I know that it was wrong to hope they could make you feel better, but-"

"No," she agreed, "they _can't._ And neither can you or anyone else. I'm tired of people acting like I'm some toy, some _broken doll_ in need of fixing. Yes, I'm hurting, and _yes,_ I'm traumatized, but I know I'd be better off on my own! This place is sucking the life out of me!"

Guiltily, Will lowered his eyes. "It's just for a little while longer, Abigail. The doctors need to be sure of-"

_"__When? _All I ever hear is 'just a little while longer,' but nobody ever gives me a straight answer!" Cheeks coloring from her outburst, she exhaled and folded her arms. "I'm sorry, Will… I know it's not your fault. You were just doing your job, and…maybe a part of me resents you for taking what should've been mine."

Will swallowed. "Meaning…?"

_"I _should've killed him. All of those people got hurt because of me, so _I_ should've been the one to end it all…to stop it."

In that moment, Will wanted to take her in his arms and squeeze out all the pain, the _ugliness,_ and banish them to a realm where they could no longer hurt nor damage this young woman. She had suffered through _so much,_ and he hated to see her so broken and brimming with self-loathing.

"It's not your fault," he gently assured her. "No matter what your father said, no matter what he did, _none_ of this is on your shoulders."

Abigail's eyes puddled and she looked away, loosely holding herself around the middle. "If that's true, then why does everyone believe I'm guilty?" _Why did I **allow** myself to be?_

"The world is always quick to judge," Will murmured. "That doesn't make it right or true."

Taking a small, hesitant step forward, she pressed, "Why do _you_ think I'm innocent?"

For a moment, Will was taken aback. When anyone else asked, he was immediately nettled and quick to defend, and yet when Abigail posed the same question, all he could truly focus on were her sad, pleading eyes. _I believe you because you need me to. _And in the end, that was all that mattered to him, wasn't it? To be what she needed?

"Because you're a good person," he said instead, "and because no matter what happened, proof of guilt would lead me to believe you were coerced. Your father was obsessive, Abigail, so I _know_ anything you would've done would've been forced."

Somehow, the tension in her shoulders lessened, and Abigail found herself burrowing in against Will's front, her face hiding against the drab, muted colors of his sweater. Her fingers clutched at the fabric and she wept, pouring out months – _years_ – of repressed ugliness and self-hated.

Will was overwhelmed. His empathy allowed him to see her, to _feel_ her pain, and as he clasped her shaking form against his chest, his tender heart broke.

"I see you, Abigail," he whispered.

She pitifully whimpered in response, their embrace now painfully tight. But still, neither let up on their strong hold, Will nuzzling into her hair as Abigail wept soundly. Before now, when had she truly been allowed to show her real emotions, Will wondered? How long had she simultaneously yearned for and _feared_ being seen?

"I've got you."

Abigail hiccupped softly, slowly coming down from the relief of acceptance and truth. She hadn't admitted anything – not _truly_ – but Will's reaction gave her hope that he had seen her, hands sticky with blood, and had accepted her for all her faults and horrors. She wasn't a sweet, darling princess, but a bruised, flowing dark tendril that yearned for light. She had been corrupted and held underwater by the man she'd loved most – a man she'd _trusted_ –and now a triumphant, shivering burst of warmth filled her at the thought that Will might think she was a good person…that she wasn't _evil._

_It's okay,_ his reassuring touch seemed to whisper. **_You're_**_ okay._

Withdrawing with a plaintive sniff, Abigail wiped her eyes and said the first thing that came to mind: "Thank you for the flowers."

Unable to help it, Will smiled.

**A/N:** I finally published my novel, so I'm not quite sure how I've had the energy/inspiration for all these fics lately. If you're curious about my book, you can learn more about it on my Tumblr, _**musicboxmemories**_. :)

Anyway, I think this is my first non-romantic Will/Abigail fic, so congrats to me (and my non-shipping readers). They had SO many parallels on the show, so I still feel cheated that their friendship wasn't nurtured. GUESS IT'S ALL UP TO ME.


End file.
